


Catch Me When I Fall

by majesticduxk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Dean, Angel!Au, Angry!Sam, Bondage, Collar, Fallen!Sam, Hopeful Ending, King of Hell!Sam, Light Sadism, M/M, Marking, Show level violence, Top!Sam, bottom!Dean, dub con, non con, possessive!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6752074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk/pseuds/majesticduxk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean fell for Sam. But Sam needs so much more.</p><p> </p><p>  <img/></p><p> </p><p>written for the wincest reverse bang, based on this fic by <a href="http://seafoxfire.tumblr.com/post/143868615800/catch-me-when-you-fall-art-post-for-the-wincest">seafoxfire</a> (commissions available!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch Me When I Fall

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: this my story for the Wincest RBB. I was luckily enough to get [seafoxfire](www.seafoxfire.tumblr.com) as my artist. Not only is [seafoxfire](www.seafoxfire.tumblr.com) an insanely talented artist, they are also the best cheerleader one could want. I struggled with this fic: I knew EXACTLY what I wanted to write, and couldn’t get the words down, but I always had a cheerleader there. Thank you! This story is for you, and I hope you love it.  
> Extra special thanks to my beta, [pod7et](www.pod7et.tumblr.com), for their amazing help!

“But I am loyal!”

Sam’s voice echoed throughout the Heavens. They surrounded him – the archangels above him, on their chairs of gold, the host on all other sides – watching and waiting with bated breath.

The last time an angel had been brought before the combined might of Heaven was when Michael cast Lucifer down. At the time, Lucifer had declared his loyalty, just as Sam did now. And just like Sam, Lucifer had spread his wings in defiance. And just as Sam, his voice had rung with barely concealed rage, not an ounce of repentance in him.

Raphael called him on it immediately.

“Where is your contrition? Your sorrow? You come before us filled with rage, not supplication. Is this how one asks forgiveness from Heaven?”

Sam didn't even try to suppress his growl.

“ _I have done nothing wrong_! What would you have me apologise for? Something which might not come to be?”

Sam's words rang through the throne room, the truth clear in every syllable. Every angel heard, and yet none spoke for him.

Terrible understanding weighed upon him. This was not ordained. It was _planned_. Dropping his head down, Sam spoke to the floor.

"So this is how you repay me." Sam’s words were bitter.

The force of three archangels filled the space, stern and unforgiving. Without looking, Sam knew there was no hope. Michael's face was set with determination; he was ever obedient to their Fathers' word. Gabriel's eyes were creased with sorrow; of the three, he understood the importance of truth. Yet he did not speak for Sam. Raphael's eyes showed he was willing, nay, waiting and ready, to cast Sam from the loving embrace of his family.

How did it come to this? That not a brother or sister would speak for him?

Sam didn’t shout, yet the hall heard."You will rue this. I will find those who have worked against me, against _Heaven_ , and they shall rue this day."

Michael's face showed pity before he intoned, "By the Hand of God it is written and by my words it is done."

Raphael was the one to push him over. Raphael was there before Michael has finished speaking, ready to do the deed. To push Sam from Heaven's loving embrace. Sam sneered at him, and Raphael spat.

"Farewell, _traitor_. May you enjoy your place in Hell." Over the shocked muttering at his words, he added, "May you fall as Lucifer fell.”

Before Sam could even think of a response, there was a cry from the back of the room, and an angel pushed through the crowds.

“Stop! Stop! Who decided such a thing? Sam would not, had not, done anything wrong! I would speak in my brother’s defence!”

Dean! Sam sent a quick prayer of thanks, thanking his Father for sending Dean! Sam had no ears for the shouting around him, just eyes for Dean rushing to his aid. To him.

Before Dean could reach Sam, he was roughly jerked back, Uriel's hand encircling his wrist.

“It has already been decided, brother. It has been writ. It has been spoke. Sam is destined to fall.”

“No! Sam is-”

Uriel shook him roughly.

“Don’t be a fool, Dean. _It is written_. It is his _destiny_. Would you go against the word of our Father?”

Glaring, Dean wrenched his arm free. “Sam has done nothing wrong! Sam is good and loyal. He is my friend and my comrade in arms. He is my brother! All of yours!" he bellowed at the crowd. “He has fought for all of you.” Turning back to Uriel, his voice was like ice, "I will not let him fall as if he were –“

“Stop this foolish talk! You too have your part to play, Dean!" Uriel's face turned dark, ugly. "Or did you think the prophecy spoke only of Sam." Before Dean's shocked face, Uriel raised his voice. "Your are to slay your brother. This is your destiny.”

"For Heaven!" Raphael cried. His blade was in his hand, and before Dean could move, he’d slashed Sam’s wings. Sam’s howl was cut short as Raphael pushed him over the edge.

"Sam!"

Dean’s lunge was aborted as Uriel wrenched him back. The angels eyes were hard and cold as he repeated, “You will play your part, Dean. It is your destiny.”

Dropping his gaze, Dean waited until Uriel’s hold slackened, before wrenching his arm free and stalking to the edge. Staring down, he strained his eyes until he felt a spark, something that could be Sam.

Looking up, Dean’s gaze flickered over Michael and Gabriel – he couldn’t look at Raphael – before settling back on Michael. With a shaking hand, he ripped his golden feather of command from his shoulder, tossing it to the ground.

His words rang clear through the resulting shock.

“Fuck our Father, Michael. And fuck you.”

And thus did Dean depart Heaven’s loving arms.

~o~

Sam didn’t hurt when he woke. Not until he took a deep breath, and then pain lit up his wings. His feathers burning cold as grace leaked from wings. Father damn Raphael! _All of them_. If he survived this, he would have his revenge. Pain clouded his mind, anger the only thing keeping him conscious. 

A feather light touch pushed his hair back from his face. Ignoring his immediate response – which was to stab whoever was touching him – he forced himself to relax. The touch was soothing, not threatening. It felt familiar, too.

Dean?

Upright in an instant, Sam spun around ready to smite whoever held him for it must be an enemy. Dean wouldn’t be down here. Dean wouldn’t have fallen. Dean was…

“Sammy? You ok?”

Right in front of him.

“That sucked, huh?”

What was Dean doing here?

“I’m pretty sure here’s where I could make an inappropriate joke.”

Dean should still be safe… up there.

“Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”

That was in bad taste.

Dean grimaced. “That was in bad taste.”

Okay, this was probably Dean.

“Sam? I need you to say something.”

Dean was holding him.

“How are you here, Dean?” No, that wasn’t the right question. “Why are you here?”

“Do you honestly think I would leave you to die?” Dean sounded offended, but that wasn’t important right now.

“They cast you from Heaven?”

“No, Sammy, they just –“

Sam wasn’t listening. Anger, such as he had never known, filled him. Anger for himself, for what he had been. For Sam had been first amongst the angels (not the archangels of course, although now Sam wondered.) Sam had been a creature of light and grace. As it should be: created in their Father’s image. There should be nothing else. But he must have had something else, for even now as his grace dripped from his body, something else was already there. Something dark.

Sam had truly fallen, and how easy it had been. But Dean? Dean was still of light. He could feel the purity of grace, and could see the glow out of the corner of his eye. Dean was purity and light – everything that had rejected him. And everything he would now take.

“- so I don’t really know. Anyway.” Dean looked around. They’d landed in what had been a wooded hillside. Now it was just a hillside. “What do we do now?’

Sam huffed an unamused laugh. ”I think we go and raise a little Hell.”

~o~

Dean had never imagined Hell. Not really. And if he had, it certainly wouldn’t have been rooms opulent enough for Lucifer before he fell! Wincing, Dean scrubbed that thought from his mind. That cut a little close to home, seeing as how Sam was the ruler of the fucking land down under.

Throwing himself down on a beautifully soft daybed, Dean pouted. Because seriously? What the fuck was his life?

Dean: Warrior of Heaven, destroyer armies, tamer of fates, and explorer the cosmos. Trapped. He had the run of four rooms in the uppermost level of Hell. This meant lower security, as Sam, the supercilious _ass_ was fond of reminding him. And it pissed him off! He’d always been stronger than Sammy and now those tables were turned. Not that he cared about that – not really. Except that Sam was keeping him locked away and he couldn’t do anything about it!

“You know why, Dean. And you know how to get out.”

Spinning, Dean levelled Sam with the angriest look he could.

“Don’t read my mind!”

Sam ignored Dean’s anger, instead reaching out and tugging at one his feathers. While Dean’s every instinct was to flick his wings away, or perhaps sharpen his feathers to blade-like points, he stood, as passive as he could be at Sam’s touch. He’d done that once, moved out of Sam’s grasp, and the outcome hadn’t been pretty.

Dean had no love for demons, but he had no love for torture either. No one deserved Sam’s creative punishments.

Dean had vowed no one would be tortured due to his actions action, and drawing a deep breath, he attempted diplomacy.

“When are you going to let me out of this fucking room, Sam?”

And there was the reason he was a warrior, rather than a wordsmith. Sam’s fingers gripped tighter.

“Not while they are still searching for you. Not while you are unmarked.”

Dean scowled. Not this again.

“Sam, it doesn’t matter if they come. I made my choice. Sammy - _I made my choice_.” And it was true. Dean wasn’t happy with every aspect of it… in fact, most of it he was fairly unhappy about. Still, he knew that if were he to do it over he’d do it again. Every time he’d follow Sam.

Sam’s laugh was a bitter crack. “While they’re still searching for you, you will be here, where I know you are safe.”

“I’m not going to go with them, Sam! I can make my own-“

Strong hands pulled him close. Sam’s eyes glowed gold and Dean instinctively bared his throat.

“You will do as I tell you.” One hand curled around Dean’s neck, fingers tangling with the longer hair there. Even knowing what was going to happen, Dean still winced when Sam gripped, pulling his head back.

“They haven’t stopped looking, Dean. It’s about more than you now. It’s about power and ownership.”

“Well, if it’s not about me, then surely I can – ah!”

Sam’s voice was gentle. “You won’t do anything I don’t allow, Dean. And until you willingly take my mark, I won’t allow you out of our rooms.”

And that, apparently, was that.

~o~

Sam hadn’t always been this obsessive.

When he first fell, he mourned for home. Mourned for what might have been. Despite his dark pronouncement, they walked Earth together. It wasn’t lonely – they had each other – but it was hard. Sam’s grace slowly bled out – Raphael’s cut had been particularly unkind - meant to cause pain and suffering. Dean didn’t know if he could forgive him. Not that Raphael needed Dean’s forgiveness. He probably never gave Dean another thought. It was Sam he needed to watch out for.

Dean stifled a yawn as he watched Sam standing in the smouldering ruins of yet another church. The first few times Sam pinned Dean with a challenging look, but Dean was unconcerned. These buildings did not represent the home of their Father. Love didn’t need walls to bind it, and Sam had an ability for picking one's housing unspeakable evils…

Of course, Dean had to pull Sam back sometimes. Smiting a barista because the coffee was too cold was not okay. And nor was cursing a human who accidently brushed against you. And - _no, Sam!_ \- not even ones who did it on purpose. It surprised Dean that he had a modicum of control over his brother. He could still reach out to his brother, let his own grace touch his brother’s, feel the joy as their grace mingled, and attempt to hide his sadness at the ever weakening response.

Until the day there was no response.

Coincidentally, this was day Sam decided he’d had enough and was going to take his rightful place.

~o~

It was surprisingly easy taking over Hell. In all honesty, Sam probably wanted more of a challenge. Instead, he was ushered in on a red carpet, genuflecting demons lining the carpet all the way to the throne. When they realised their new lord was killing everything in his wake, they scattered in plumes of dark smoke, but not before the bodies of the slain lined the path to the throne.

Although Hell did not readily open its gate to one of Heaven’s own, Dean followed as quickly as he could. He felt the moment that Sam claimed the crown; he was busy disposing of four demons when Sam’s roar shook the very air, granting Dean safe access. Dean’s enemies obeyed the command, allowing Dean to slowly, carefully make his way to the throne room. The path was marked with bodies twisted into painful, violent visages; their new Lord had not been kind.

The real shock came when he came face to face with his brother.

~o~

The figure stood, cold and silent in front of the throne. What caught Dean’s eye though, were the wings. They were big, dark, magnificent. _Beautiful_.

“Your… your wings!”

Even from this distance he could see flecks of red and white. Not that his own were in any better condition. There was a sense of movement behind him, and he spun, sword in hand. The room was filled with demons, all looking at their king.

“A king needs a consort, Dean.”

It was impossible to hold back his snort. Dean gestured towards the corpses “It doesn’t look like you like demons all that much, Sammy.”

“My consort will not be a demon.”

Dean laughed. “What, now you’ve got the nice new wings, you’re gonna fly up to Heaven and grab yourself a willing angel? News flash, Sam. They booted you when _you_ were an angel. Don’t think they’re going to see this as some sort of improvement.”

Sam turned then, and smiled. “I have an angel, Dean. _My_ angel.”

Next moment, Dean was crowded up against a wall, Sam’s hands on his hips, his lips at his throat, teeth worrying against the skin. And really? That should not have been such a surprise.

~o~

A well placed knee saw Sam on the floor and Dean on the other side of the throne. (And what the fuck did Sam expect anyway? Surely Sam knew him better than that?)

“Really, Sam? Really? You’ve been king for less than five minutes, and you’re already making fucked up decisions! I’ve came here willingly. For now,” he added sharply. “I’m my own angel, Sam! I’m not meant for Hell, and I’m not meant for you. Hell is not, and will never be my domain.” Dean shook his head in disgust. “And I thought you were overbearing, rude and presumptive before!”

Covered in blood, the new King of Hell was ecstatic over his conquest. At the same time, it had been too easy, and Sam still quivered with barely contained frustration and violence. In retrospect, Dean should have just left. Sam was in no mood to argue. 

“You’re not leaving here until I own you: body and soul.”

It took Dean all of three seconds to comprehend the statement, and then less than one to be caught before leaving the building. Sam could be taught, Dean reflected wryly, as Hell’s ruler nimbly dodged another knee aimed at his nether regions.

And thus did Dean find himself locked up in Sam’s rooms. Tossed on the bed, he could do nothing but watch with impotent fury as Sam manifested wards he’d never seen and didn’t understand. Clenching his fist, he could do nothing as they sunk them into the walls, the floor, the ceiling. 

Sam turned his eye back to Dean and the edge of a ward? A mark? It hovered in the air before Sam waved his hand and whatever it was dropped out of existence.

“I won’t hurt you, Dean.” Sam’s voice was distant, but Dean edged away. He could still feel that dark power throbbing in the room. “But until you wear my claim, you will not leave this space.”

With that pronouncement, Sam left.

Dean took a few moments to look around. It was pretty. It was comfortable. But it was a prison nonetheless. But he was a seraph - one of Heaven’s Chosen Warriors! No little ward would keep him trapped!

~o~

In the end, it took six painful weeks to break the wards. Six weeks of Dean throwing everything he had at the mess of spells and symbols. Six weeks of Sam meticulously tending to his wounds, grooming his feathers. Instead of punishing him for his escape efforts, Sam laid him on the bed, wrapping his arms around Dean, before covering him with his wings. Dean’s every arguments was hushed, and Sam’s arms were gentle as he cooed at Dean, telling how much he loved him, wanted him, how _safe_ Dean would be if he just let Sam in.

Sam wasn’t himself any more. He wore the mantle of Hell with ease, and despite the face he showed Dean, Dean could feel the oily evil that covered Sam. He couldn’t help but grieve for his fallen brother, vowing to save him.

Somehow.

In his darkest moments, he wondered if that was possible. He couldn’t even rescue himself.

It was actually in a moment of despondency that he felt the first crack in the warding. Shuffling off his melancholy thoughts, he focused on the black energy, edging his grace through until the ward over his door shattered.

He didn’t stay to celebrate. He could _feel_ his brother in his head, ordered him back. Ignoring the order, Dean rounded the corner, only to run into Raziel, an angel from his former garrison.

“Sister!”

Dean’s joy at seeing his sister fled as she attempted to stab him with her angel blade. And while it wasn’t the greeting he expected, when he gave even a moment of thought he understood. rom Raziel’s point of view, Dean was a traitor. And while he was still pissed at Heaven (after all, they pushed Sam!) he wasn’t out to murder his sister. He could easily teach her a lesson before banishing her.

Sam felt differently.

“You shall not touch that which is mine!”

Sam’s voice echoed in his head, and though Dean closed his eyes for only a second, when he opened them Raziel was nothing but ash and a wings burnt upon the ground. As Sam turned, glowing eyes on Dean, Dean almost feared for his own safety. Before he could flee, he was tucked into a strong embrace, and whisked safely back to his prison. Sam pushed him away as soon as they were in the room, as if he couldn’t bear to touch him.

“I think it’s quite clear something needs to change.”

Dean’s wings quivered aggressively, then dropped. Running a rough hand through his hair, Dean took a deep breath. Sam sounded calm, but tension crackled audibly around them.

“I’m a warrior of Heaven, and I am well able to defend myself. ”

“ _Who_ was almost killed by their comrade in arms?”

Dean winced and looked away. That was unfair, and Sam knew it. For one thing, Raziel would never have laid that blade on him and for another, "That was Raziel’s duty, Sam. You would do the same were you still there." Ignoring Sam's offended ‘ _never_ ,’ Dean forced himself to continue. "You know as well as I do that The Scribe’s word is Law. It was written that I was to remain in Heaven. To defeat Hell's army. But I followed you. I chose you.” Dean's laugh was bitter. "And what happened? I followed you to Hell where I sit about in luxury, imprisoned by own brother, watching idly as you spread death and destruction? No wonder they mark me traitor!”

The last was a shout of outrage, and it had Sam moving across the room pulling the surprised seraph into his arms.

"Your place has always been with me, Dean!"

Dean’s face grew tight and annoyed as he drew a breath ready to argue. But Sam didn't care what he had to say. He brought his lips down, effectively shutting him up. Dean stiffened in surprise, before jerking in Sam's hold, pushing against him with all his might.

~o~

Dean escaped only when Sam let him go. Backed up against the wall, he spread his wings wide. He probably meant to intimidate Sam, but as Sam ran his eyes over Dean, all he could think of was pressing them down and watching Dean melt beneath him. 

_Soon_ , he promised himself. 

“That very first day, I told you. Your place is with me. Father made you for me.”

The last was a velvety purr.

"I don't understan-"

Stepping forward, Sam pressed his hands against Dean’s wings, against the wall, hips jerking as Dean’s feathers shivered.

"Time to take what has always been mine, Dean.”

~o~

Shaking his head, Dean attempted to make sense of the last few moments. Sam had officially lost it. It wasn’t like it was unexpected. But for the first time Dean questioned his own actions. Following after Sam? He would never regret that. But following Sam to Hell? Staying in Hell? Not questioning some of his more dubious decisions. 

Ha! Dean had to laugh. Like taking over Hell wasn’t a dubious decision in the first place.

But there was no time like the present, and never let it be said Dean shied away from difficult things. This conversation was long overdue.

“This is ridiculous, Sam. I should have done something about your delusions long ago, but I thought you just needed time. Falling… I know it was difficult,” and wasn’t that an understatement? “But the way you’ve gone about…. Dealing… with… it…” He was floundering. There was no other word for it. Right. Time to get out of here.

Taking a deep breath, he stood tall, and looked Sam in the eye. “The point is I need to go. _You_ need to let me go! I’m an angel, Sam! I’m not meant for Hell, and Heaven is no longer my home. I… I neither of us is meant for here, but you’ve made your choice. It’s not forever, just–”

Sam felt his belly tighten – but it wasn’t anger. It was anticipation. He’d wanted to give Dean time, had to mark Dean, chain him to his side until he chose the position willingly. Claim him so thoroughly Heaven – and Dean – had no choice but to acknowledge it.

“… okay, Sam?”

Sam hadn’t heard a word, but that was of no importance.

“Not okay, Dean.” Dean’s expression was shocked, and Sam reached out, caressing his cheek, letting his hand drop down to Dean's throat where it tightened.

"I think there may have been some confusion."

"No, Sam-"

With a wave of his hand, Dean was silent. Dean's eyes promised retribution: no sound escaped as he clutched at his throat.

Stretching, Sam looked at the ceiling, considering his options. He'd let things go on too long. Dean was Sam's, and only Sam's. It was long past time to make that clear to everyone. Surging forward, Sam grasped Dean’s wrists, pulling him until they were nose to nose.

"You are _mine_ , Dean. You fell for me. You follow me. Your place is beside me, beneath me," he added cruelly, pushing his hips against Dean's.

The angel went still in his arms, before shaking his head violently.

"Yes, Dean."

Sam's eyes flashed and there they stood, naked as the day they were created.

Dean's wings immediately moved to cover himself. While he cared not for his nudity, he just felt... vulnerable. Vulnerable in a way he hadn't ever felt. A hand pulled sharply at his feathers, and with a wordless cry of pain he stared at Sam.

"You will give it all to me, Dean. You love, your loyalty, your body."

Sam didn't ask again, just pulled Dean toward the bed, laying him down as if he were the most desired being in all creation.

“I think I’ll start with your body.”

~o~

With a sharp snap of Sam’s fingers, Dean’s wrists flew to the headboard. And stayed there. It took only a moment to test the strength of the invisible bonds before Dean was kicking out. But it was too late. Sam was already there, putting something against his throat. Twisting his head away, all it took was for Sam to grasp his hair to stop that. Dean wasn’t going to take it lying down! Instead he bucked against Sam, his attempt to dislodge him embarrassingly ineffective.

He continued flailing about until Sam dragged his thumb across Dean’s throat, and something burned icy cold. Following the shock. Dean has his voice back. And he used it.

“What the fuck, Sam?”

“It’s beautiful, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes rolled around as he attempted to see what was wrapped around his neck. Unfortunately, even angel eyes didn’t work that way. Sam was more than willing to supply the facts.

“It’s my collar Dean. My mark.” He tapped his finger over something and the cold flared again. “This is just the first of many, Dean.”

~o~

There was no time to argue before Sam’s lips were on his, tongue forcing its way in. Dean thought about biting, but a hard nip at his own lip had him reconsidering- fuck Sam and his mind reading. Plus… he honestly had no idea what Sam would do if pushed.

Where did that leave him, he wondered bitterly? Did he just lie back and think of Heaven?

“Ow!”

Sam had made his way down Dean’s body, and was now glaring up from where he’d bitten Dean’s thigh. Hard. He lapped the oozing blood, maintaining eye contact with Dean. Dean winced as Sam’s hands dug into him, bruising beside the bite. Fuck! Was Sam still in his head?

“Focus on me, Dean. Never Heaven. Never again. You don’t need to think about anything else. Just me.”

Sam waited until he had Dean’s full attention, before he dropped his eyes to stare at Dean’s interested cock. Dean closed his eyes, hoping to avoid further humiliation, but Sam’s grip tightened, and the accompanying growl of ‘ _Dean_ ’ was not to be ignored.

Once assured of Dean’s complete focus, he turned his eyes back to Dean’s cock. He stared a moment, before in a startling movement he got a shoulder under Dean’s knee, spreading him wide and baring all to his searching gaze.

“Beautiful,” Sam breathed, before dropping his head and nuzzling in under Dean’s balls.

Dean clenched in anticipation, hips jerking away, but Sam predicted the response. His fingers dug cruelly into Dean’s thighs until he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Sam stayed in place, sucking and licking, lulling Dean into a false security. When Sam licked the length of Dean’s cock, sucking lightly at the tip, Dean couldn’t control his hips jerking forward, into the hot, wet warmth Not only that, but the pleasure spread to his wings, the traitorous things flaring out in supplication. He immediately tried to draw them back in, to hide his arousal and false submission, but Sam’s wings were already there, pressing his down into the soft mattress.

He felt so vulnerable with his wings spread. And Sam was so much bigger and stronger, so overwhelming as he seemed to be everywhere, touching and marking every part of him. Even his grace seemed to recognise Sam’s power, as his wings curled up into Sam’s. Already he could feel a dark unctuousness pressing at his grace as steadily as Sam’s mouth and fingers pressed at Dean’s body. His body was a map of bruises and scratches, each carefully carved into his very being.

He hissed, his attention caught by the bite of Sam’s teeth at one red swollen nipple. Immediately he soothed it with his tongue, a stark contrast to the sharp pressure of his fingers biting into the other. Sam shifted so his entire body covered Dean – not a single inch of flesh untouched by Sam. The Sam _shifted_ , and Dean tried to bite back his moans as Sam’s hot, satiny length rubbed against his own. To his eternal shame, Dean bucked up against him, his own cock, already hard from Sam’s ministrations, firming even more at the delicious friction.

Sam chuckled into his mouth.

“I want all your sounds, Dean. Hide nothing from me.”

Which was all the warning he had before Sam was everywhere: his tongue in Dean’s mouth, feathers mingled with feathers and Sam’s hands were everywhere. It was relentless, and Sam didn’t stop until Dean was a quivering, moaning mess.

“So pretty, Dean,” Sam crooned. “So pretty when you’re like this.”

Dean didn’t have words. He couldn’t even turn his head away as Sam snagged a knife from somewhere, and cut across his palm dripping blood onto Dean’s mouth. When he didn’t move, Sam rubbed at it, covered his thumb before slipping it into Dean’s mouth.

“Suck,” he demanded.

Dean obeyed. His mind was blank and it wasn’t until he felt fingers probing his entrance that he pulled away, but he was too fucking predictable, because Sam was already pressing his wings down harder.

“I know you’re eager, Dean, but I have to prepare you, otherwise it’ll hurt.”

The sadistic asshole sounded _concerned_.

Maybe… Maybe there was a way out of this? He let his grace free, prodding at whatever bound his wrists, only to be brought back to himself with a pained gasp. Rough fingers were probing his ass, and Sam’s expression was not kind.

“You still don’t get it? That there is nothing except me?”

Dean opened his mouth to say… fuck! He didn’t know what to say! Despite all this, he’d hoped - _prayed_ \- that Sam would come to his senses, but now that Sam was three fingers deep in his ass? That hope seemed long gone.

Kissing Dean’s temple, Sam murmured in his ear. “I told you that you were mine. That means no escape, Dean. Not ever. Still,” and now those lips moved lower, kissing along tear tracks Dean didn’t know were there, “You wouldn’t be my Dean if you weren’t stubborn until the very end.”

Sam pulled back before settling himself comfortably between Dean’s legs. With one hand he steadied his cock, the other grasped Dean’s ass cheek as he pulled.

“So pretty here, Dean. Next time I’ll show you how much I love this pretty little hole, but for now–“ Sam gave no warning as he surged forward, his grunt of delight more than covering Dean’s pained gasp.

“Sam – no! Please… stop!”

But Sam didn’t stop. Grabbing Dean’s chin, he stared the angel in the eye as he inexorably slid home, not stopping until he could go no further. And even then he thrust, as if trying to get deeper.  
“You’re mine, Dean. Completely and utterly mine.”

~o~

Sam wasn’t going to last much longer. Finally - _finally_ \- he was buried in his brother. Dean’s thoughts of escape and rescue would finally be put to bed, because Dean was here, now, in Sam’s bed, covered in Sam’s marks, filled with Sam’s cock.

And that was enough to push him over the edge.

With a guttural raw he grabbed Dean’s arm, pushing his power through his hand. Dean cried out – was that the sizzle of flesh he heard – tightening around him, and that was it. Throwing back his head, Sam roared, releasing into his brother, his consort. He could almost feel his power burn its way into Dean, mixing with Dean’s grace and cementing his claim.

Almost as an afterthought he brought his hand to Dean’s straining cock. It took little more than a touch to have him spilling over himself.

“Knew you’d love it, Dean.” Sam collapsed forward, tilting his hips up to stay joined with his brother. “Made for me, so perfect.”

 

~o~

Dean lay there, shaking, trying to get his head around, whatever the fuck just happened. His mind shied away, but he couldn’t ignore it - teeth marks and bruises littered his skin, and come still dripped from his ass. He probably could have ignored that, except Sam had finally pulled out of Dean’s ass, replacing his cock with his fingers. 

“Gotta keep my come in you, Dean. I’ll have to fill you up regularly.”

 

And it burned. Everywhere Sam had touched him burned. There was no hiding from it. He was claimed.

Claimed by the Boy King. Claimed for Hell. Choking back a sob, Dean buried his face in Sam’s chest. The arms around him tightened, providing as much a comfort as a cage. Sighing, Dean closed his eyes, and sunk into himself. Now that he was… tainted… his grace would fade. No longer one of Heaven's warriors. Laughing bitterly to himself, Dean reflected that he hadn’t been one of Heavens’ for a long time, let alone a _warrior_.

How long would it take, he wondered, before his grace faded? How long before he was just a shell of himself. And filled with what? What would he become? Already he could feel Sam. Sam had already had access to his thoughts, now he could feel his mark. The brand on his shoulder throbbed as did his insides. Marked in and out. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean called to his grace. He wanted… a lasting memory, perhaps. Sometimes to take with him to the ends of time. A deep breath later, he felt his grace. It was strong and fast, silver and light, dancing through his body and calling to - _Sam_.

Dean jerked upright. Attempted to jerk upright. Sam snarled in his sleep, arms tightening. He did leave enough give that Dean could shuffle around, until he was facing Sam. This appeared to please him, as he thrust a leg forward, knocking their cocks together. Dean stifled a moan, still over sensitive, however bodily matters were soon inconsequential: Dean could feel his grace moving.

And it felt happy.

Frozen, Dean sunk down to feel his grace. Instead of fear and grief, instead of the rush as it left his body, instead it played with Sam. It played with Sam’s _grace_.

What the fuck?

Eyes hard and focused, Dean put a hand to Sam’s chest. He could sense a tendril of something that felt like himself, like his grace. And if he looked hard enough, he could swear that it was spreading. Before he could do much more than that, Sam growled and pulled him closer, trapping Dean’s hands between their bodies. Beneath his hands, that tiny spark pulsed, growing stronger with each breath.

For the first time in a long time, when Dean closed his eyes, he felt hope. He could feel an answering pulse from deep within his brother, small but fierce. Dean fell asleep, basking in that glow, knowing he would be fine, that Sam would be fine. They would both be fine.


End file.
